A Very Bubba Christmas
by JanineMNM
Summary: There's no telling what a mixed-up vampire like Bubba will do at Christmastime. As the vampires of Shreveport scramble to set him straight, Sookie takes part in a well-deserved, relaxed holiday season, her first with Eric. Little do they know that just when things seem to be wrapping up, the New Year promises to bring more excitement. Multiple POVs. Post DEA. O/S.


**Disclaimer: **The Sookie Stackhouse/SVM series belongs to Charlaine Harris. I'm not profiting from this story except by having fun with her hard, talented work.

**A/N:** This story is a mildly speculative, not especially serious piece set after _Dead Ever After_—CH's upcoming and final novel in the SVM series—in which I've paired Sookie and Eric. Freyda is a thing of the not-very-distant past, and Sookie is enjoying a restful holiday after some tough times.

Thank you to Peppermintyrose for finding time in her busy schedule to give this a read and check it twice. ;) For some meaty speculation on how the Freyda situation could be resolved, check out her post _No __Little__ Arms Here. _(A link to her blog is on my profile page.)

* * *

**A Very Bubba Christmas**

**Fangtasia, November 26. EPOV.**

Not coincidentally, the year that Pam took a green paintball to her ear was also the year that the infant Jesus landed on my desk.

Dented and cracked with chipped paint, he spun and wobbled before coming to rest face up next to my phone.

I glanced up from my calendar proofs to face Bill Compton. "I'm sure there is sufficient reason why you are bothering me with this."

"Bubba may have gotten slightly confused," he said, launching into what I quickly realized would not be a short story. "We were prowling the alley behind the Pizza Bowl, a prime location for cats because of the rat population. I'd just spotted a large tomcat for him when I realized he'd disappeared. Unfortunately, I was not able to track him down until an hour later, when I found him wandering aimlessly and cradling…," he paused to gesture at the plastic chunk on my desk, "…Jesus."

"This Jesus?"

"Yes, from the nativity scene outside the Methodist church on Park."

"He stole it?"

"I did not observe him do it, but yes, I believe so."

"And why did you not simply return it?"

"Well, as you can see, he was much…loved."

I rotated the figure on my desk using the tip of my pen. It stank of chemicals and feline. One whole shoulder had been smashed in, and a jagged hole gaped in the back.

"Now that hole right there?" Bill pointed. "That was not Bubba's doing. I believe that was where the light bulb went."

"Did anyone witness him taking it?"

"I don't believe so, but I can't be sure."

"Admit nothing. Buy them a new one and be done with it."

\/ \/

**Sookie's house, November 27. SPOV.**

When I heard the car wheels on my gravel driveway at 9:57 PM, the last person I expected to find was Eric…holding an eight-foot Christmas tree.

He gave it a shake.

"For me?" I laughed, pleased as punch.

"It is tradition, yes?"

"Yes, of course." I stepped aside so he could cross the threshold, tree and all. "Thank you! This is a special treat."

Eric paused immediately inside, scanning the room.

"Here," I said, toeing a throw rug. "You can set it down and lean it against the wall while we rearrange the furniture." With a tree this size, the usual set-up wouldn't work.

It took some figuring, but once we agreed on a plan, the actual moving of furniture was a piece of cake—for Eric, that is. In fact, he handled it on his own while I handily retrieved the tree stand from exactly where I'd stored it, with all of Gran's Christmas decorations in the cleaned-out storage space of the attic. I felt pretty proud about having a Christmas storage area in my newly re-designed and efficient attic space. I reminded myself that as I'd done last year, I _could_ have managed setting up this tree myself—shoving furniture included—but it sure was nice to be surprised and enjoy company this year.

With a simple slice of the utility knife, the twine binding the tree released, unfolding branches that dwarfed my furniture.

"It is big." Eric grinned.

"It's huge!" I gushed. "I've never ever had a tree this big. I love it!" Its fresh scent was already filling the room. "Now I'll definitely have to throw a party so everyone can come and admire it."

Eric grinned again. "I understand you have another tradition, yes?" he asked, stepping closer to me and stroking my arms. "The presents go underneath the tree?"

\/ \/

**Meanwhile, at the Compton residence…**

**Message Compose:**

**To:** Eric at Fangtasia (.com)  
**From:** WCompton at Vmail (.com)  
**Subject:** Nativity Replacement

Eric,

After conducting a thorough online investigation of nativity scenes, I have determined that we will not be able to procure the infant Jesus a la carte. The full cost of replacing the entire set, including the stable, all essential figures, plus an additional mule is $3529.05, including taxes and expedited shipping. (I did not opt for the free Super Shipper Savings, as it may have delayed delivery until post-Christmas). I will place the order and follow up to ensure that it was properly delivered.

William Compton  
Area 5 Investigator

\/ \/

…**Back at Sookie's house. SPOV.**

"This is the nicest present I've ever found under my tree." Sated and relaxed, I rolled off Eric and stretched first one leg and then the other, bare and warm, next to the fire. The scars and dimples that pocked my thighs were permanent, but now only faint reminders of the trials I'd faced less than one year ago. The whole year had been another tumultuous one, to be sure, but during the current lull, we were working hard on letting the past settle.

He turned to his side. His fingers grazed my hip before reaching for a hand. There was enough distance between us that I could see his expression, relaxed, but inquisitive too.

"Tell me your plans," he prompted, glancing up at the boughs arching above us.

I could feel myself perking up, thrilling in the anticipation of throwing my own party. "I'm thinking of a Yankee Swap."

He hiked an eyebrow, intensifying the focus in his gaze. "Yankees are tasty, but I prefer southern charm."

I decided I would let that stand as is. In fact, I felt a very nice flush blooming.

He laughed. His hand started to wander, but then stopped abruptly. "Tell me about this Yankee swap."

"All right." I lifted my head and propped it up on my bent arm, thinking of the easiest way to describe it to him. "You can set up the rules in a lot of different ways. The way I know best is that everyone brings a wrapped present for underneath the tree. Usually we set a price limit for the gift, like around $20 or so. When it's time to start the swap, everyone draws a number; whoever draws number one gets to go first. When it's your turn, you pick a present and open it. If you like it, you keep it. If you don't, then you have the option of stealing a present that's already been opened."

"Stealing?"

"Well, you trade your present for someone else's. And that person doesn't have a choice—she has to make the swap."

"And this is fun?"

"Yes, it's meant to be all in good fun, though I've been to some Yankee Swaps where no one does any stealing. That's pretty boring, really. And of course sometimes people get a little sore if they open a top notch present that's later stolen."

"What about the first person? It sounds like that's the worst number."

"Oh, no. The first person gets the last chance to steal a gift, after _all_ of them have been opened."

He nodded, apparently satisfied.

"It'll be a fun holiday season," I said, thoroughly convinced, full of contented anticipation. I relaxed my head on the throw pillow next to him, pleased I'd be able to draw up my own invitation list and plans, which was different from throwing someone else's baby shower. Maybe I'd even start a new tradition. Hey, at least it was possible now.

"You are happy."

"Yes." Who would have thought I'd ever be a social maven?

"This is good." He turned to his back again, his hands clasped across his chest.

"Mmm," I agreed, breathing deeply, enjoying the moment. I closed my eyes and waited, knowing he wouldn't stay content for long. I held still, matching—as best as I could—his absolutely motionless posture. Where would his touch would come next? A blown whisper behind my ear? A light palm on my stomach? A teasing kiss on a nipple? All fine possibilities, for sure.

But it was his laugh I heard again. "Your heartbeat is giving you away, lover."

Opening my eyes, I found him hovering over me with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. He rested his ear against my chest for only a brief moment before slipping kisses downward, one after the other, until he came to rest between my legs.

"This is good, too," he whispered.

And I had to agree. Yep, it was going to be a fine holiday season.

\/ \/

**Merlotte's, November 28. SPOV.**

"A little to the left…Okay, now higher…That's good. Right there."

Sam stepped down from his ladder to see for himself and nodded at me with approval as he surveyed the room from one end to the other. Strands of silver garland festooned the bar area. New votive candle holders and greenery spruced up each table. And a Christmas tree, decorated with real candy canes, filled the corner inside the front doorway.

Next to me, Holly paused at the bar to re-balance some salt-and-pepper shakers on her tray. "Now spreading holiday cheer at Merlotte's means more than happy hour specials."

"Right," Danielle added, "and I can't wait to clean ketchup off the greenery."

Most of the staff had wholeheartedly welcomed the changes that had started to happen around the time the new employee lockers had been installed. They'd readily accommodated the new partnership between Sam and me, made all the more apparent as he'd staunchly stood by me through the past few months. But here and there, a staff person like Danielle was left adrift, worsened for her by the waning of her tight, long-standing friendship with Holly.

Sam was losing his patience with her. "You won't mind the ketchup when folks tip you an extra holiday bonus," he replied.

She shrugged, unconvinced.

"Any other requests for the holiday schedule?" he prompted. "Speak now, or forever hold your peace." And then, looking directly at Kennedy, before she could say a word, he added, "I know—your thing is on the 15th." Kennedy didn't even bother to tone down her perma-grin as she fluttered her hand to showcase the ring gracing her finger. She'd been talking about little else but her recent engagement and the party her aunt, Marcia Albanese, was throwing her. Today she did have one other thing on her mind, though, which was the new drink she'd concocted that she called the "Slay Bell." Almost as though Sam could hear her thoughts, he waved his hand and said, "Go ahead with that new drink. Just don't get too fancy with it."

She flashed him a blinding smile and said, "Okay, boss," which made Sam shake his head. Kennedy was relentless.

With no other comments from the servers, Sam nodded to me, my signal it was time to put away the tape and tinsel in favor of a pencil, calendar, and clipboard. On suggestion from some of us servers, Sam had agreed, with my help, to work up the schedule early for the holiday season to try to accommodate parties, school pageants, the need for extra hours, and whatever else this busy time of the year brought. But as we'd started to organize all of the various pieces, we'd quickly realized exactly how complicated it would be. Today, we were set to put the finishing touches on it and post it, come hell or high water. But I could tell he was distracted by something else.

"What's up?" I said.

"Hmm?" he replied, flipping through his planner.

"What's up?" I repeated.

"Aw, it's nothing. I need a Santa."

"Come again?"

"A Santa. I took charge of the Chamber of Commerce float this year, with Santa Claus and his elves."

I got his problem immediately. "That's the one…"

He nodded miserably. "The giant fancy one at the end of the parade that collects donations for the food pantry."

"Yeah, that one," I commiserated with him. That particular float always made the papers, and the man who filled the red velvet suit was a bit of a local celebrity. I tried running through the people I knew; this wouldn't be a job for someone like Andy Bellefleur with some extra padding and a white wig. And I was sure Sam wanted to do an extra good job—both to bring in a haul for the food pantry and to try to make some headway with the tightly-knit group of men that was the Chamber of Commerce. Frankly, I didn't think they would ever be quite his crowd, but that wasn't for me to decide. Plus I had to give Sam credit for all of his successes; now, thanks largely to his efforts, more and more people were coming into the bar to hop up on a stool and catch up with him. In short, he was good for business. I was happy to be able to say that strictly as a businesswoman, but as his friend, I was just plain happy for him.

I brought myself back to Sam's immediate problem. "What happened to last year's Santa? Don't you have a regular?"

"Triple bypass surgery."

"Oh! Is he okay?"

Sam waved a hand dismissively. "He's fine. More than fine. Surgery was long ago in February. He's turned his lifestyle around so much that now he's a bit too scrawny for the role."

"Good for him."

Sam nodded seriously. "No doubt."

"I'll think on it," I promised him.

\/ \/

**Message Compose**

**To:** WCompton, Indira, MaxwellLee, MomHeidi, Palominogal, Gerald, Sara, ParkerC, RubioHermosa, OntheRocks, Eric  
**From:** Pam  
**Subject:** Inaugural Yankee Swipe

To clarify, donors for the Yankee Swipe _do not_ have to be northerners. But _please_ _do_ bring your _willing _participants creatively wrapped.

\/ \/

**Police Log, Shreveport Sun, December 7**

Police are investigating a missing infant Jesus figure, presumed stolen, from the outdoor nativity scene at the First Baptist Church of Shreveport, at the corner of Belmont and Oakwood Streets. Reported at 6:30 AM on December 6 by the Reverend Job B. Bindal of First Baptist, this theft marks the third such incident in the past two weeks within Shreveport city limits. Detective Mike Coughlin of the Shreveport police department has indicated that they are following leads regarding the thefts, but have not made any related arrests. Anyone with information regarding the missing Jesus figures is encouraged to contact the anonymous tipline at 318-555-TIPS.

\/ \/

**Fangtasia, December 8. EPOV.**

I should have known the first run-in with Jesus wouldn't have been the last.

"How did this happen again?"

"None of the usual distractions are working," Bill reported. "We tried go-kart racing, saw a Shreveport Mudbugs game, went horseback riding, and played Yahtzee. I took him to the Holiday Lights Night at Gator Land to ride the Dixie Devil. We watched _Karate Kid_—both the original and the new version. He's preyed on countless cats—tabbies, tomcats, kittens. I even hunted down a few feral ones with him."

"The story's starting to circulate."

"Under other circumstances, I might suggest sending him off elsewhere, but in his condition…"

I shook my head to cut him off. An unstable Bubba could say or do anything, and he knew too much.

"Bubba likes Sookie too. What's she suggest?" Pam inquired, from her perch on the sofa.

"She's enjoying her holiday and is not to be bothered with this." I shot Bill a direct glance.

"I once heard Bubba talking about playing War," Pam noted.

Bill shook his head vehemently. "That particular game involves using fireworks as weapons." All of us shuddered. We'd go up in flames.

"No, no. Of course not. But there's something called…Mowdown Mania Night." She reached for the newspaper on the table next to her. "Haven't you heard the commercials?" She rattled through the paper. "Paintball. Some kind of game where humans set up war-like scenarios and shoot each other with pellets filled with paint."

"With guns?"

"Yes. Non-lethal weapons. It's a game of pretend." She shrugged.

"That might work." Bill sat next to Pam on the sofa as she continued paging through the paper.

"Here it is. The indoor gaming complex of Shreveport is running a holiday special, in case you'd like to plan your annual Christmas party with a war theme, I suppose." She folded the paper open and handed it to him.

"We'll need more players," Compton noted. "Lots of players." He looked at me pointedly.

"You have my authorization to proceed."

\/ \/

**Message Compose:**

**To:** Indira, MaxwellLee, Thalia, Pam, MomHeidi, Palominogal, Gerald, Sara, ParkerC , RubioHermosa , OntheRocks  
**CC:** Eric  
**From:** WCompton  
**Subject:** Evening Excursion with Bubba

I have been authorized by your Sheriff to require all of you to attend an outing with Bubba, post Fangtasia closing tomorrow evening, at the indoor Monster Paintball complex in Shreveport. Should you require equipment, including weapons, ammunition, gear bags, etc., you will be able to rent them at the facility. All expenses will be reimbursed upon timely submission of receipts.

Sincerely,  
William Compton  
Area 5 Investigator

\/ \/

**To:** WCompton  
**From:** Eric  
**Subject:** Your lack of intelligence

You idiot! Not Thalia!

\/ \/

**To:** Thalia  
**CC:** Eric  
**From:** WCompton  
**Subject:** Please Disregard Earlier Notice

It has come to my attention that you will not be required to attend the outing with Bubba at the Monster Paintball Complex of Shreveport.

Please accept my deepest apologies for the misunderstanding.

Sincerely,  
William Compton  
Area 5 Investigator

\/ \/

**To:** WCompton  
**From:** Eric  
**Subject:** Your Email messages annoy me

Why do you end all of your emails with "Area 5 Investigator?" We all know who you are.

\/ \/

**To:** Eric  
**From:** WCompton  
**Subject:** Re: Your Email messages annoy me

FUAH. It's called a signature. Isn't it about time you get in touch with the 21st century?

William Compton  
Area 5 Investigator

\/ \/

**To:** WCompton  
**From:** Eric  
**Subject:** Re:Re:Your Email messages annoy me

I'm in touch with everything I need to be in touch with. And I mean that literally, not figuratively.

\/ \/

**Newspaper Article, Shreveport Sun, December 11**

**Local Christians Defend Crèches **

Concerned by a rash of Jesus thefts from outdoor nativity scenes—four in total—parishioners of churches within the Shreveport area are organizing all-night vigils to protect their cherished Christmas scenery.

"We've never had any problem like this in all the years I've been coming here since I was a child," said Leann Dilbert, a 40-year member of Bethany United Methodist Church, the first local church to report a theft. "I never gave it any thought. Who would do something like this? I really have to wonder what the world is coming to if churches can't even put up their nativity displays without concern."

David Riordan, resident of Shreveport, expressed outrage over the incidents. "I for one am not willing to stand by and let this kind of thing happen. Churches are the pillars of our community. We need to protect them." Mr. Riordan indicated he has signed up with not one, but several churches to take part in the rotating nightly schedules they have organized.

The Reverend Mark Thomas of the First Presbyterian Church on Poplar Street wanted to remind everyone of the spirit of the season. "Speaking on behalf of myself and other religious leaders in the area, we would like to emphasize that the nighttime vigils are _peaceful candlelight _demonstrations, meant to create a strong presence and discourage further theft. We _are not_ encouraging or condoning any sort of vigilante activity, and ask that anyone who has information regarding the thefts to contact the authorities at their tipline number, which is 318-555-TIPS."

Though police have not made any arrests related to the thefts, Detective Mike Coughlin of the Shreveport Police Department offered his assurances that they are following leads and making their presence visible near churches. "We know that putting a stop to the nativity scene thefts is an important matter and generally want our residents of Shreveport to feel safe and secure."

Meanwhile, local vampire Eric Northman has stepped forward to lend a hand to Bethany United Methodist Church. Mr. Northman, owner of Fangtasia, a bar in the ToysRUs Shopping Plaza, has replaced not only the missing baby Jesus, but also the entire nativity scene, including the stable and an additional animal figure. When questioned about his own preferences, Mr. Northman declined to specify, saying that he respected "a wide range of religious practices" and wanted to do what he could to "support the community's holiday traditions."

Another local business leader similarly offered his assistance. Alcide Herveaux, shapeshifter and owner of AAA Accurate Surveys, replaced the full nativity at First Presbyterian Church. In addition, Mr. Herveaux offered to hire and pay for live actors and animals from a local casting company to perform a re-enactment on Christmas Eve.

Reactions to the donations have varied widely. "I was pleasantly surprised, especially since this was a religious matter," said Shirley Norton, owner of Shirl's Curls, a beauty salon on Third St., two blocks away from Bethany. "But I suppose I feel better knowing vampires and shifters care about staying on good terms with their neighbors."

"I think we're asking for trouble if we accept their help," said Tina Crawley, a parishioner from Monroe. "We need to really question _why_ they are helping. What's in it for them? Maybe they're even the thieves who stole them."

The Reverend John David Thomann expressed gratitude to Mr. Northman and is happy to see his church's nativity scene restored. The Reverend Mark Thomas similarly appreciated Mr. Herveaux's donation and indicated that information regarding the live Christmas Eve re-enactment would be forthcoming on the church's website. Anyone wishing to make contributions to nativity scene replacements within the Shreveport area should contact the Reverend Job B. Bindal—who's established a nonecumenical fund for this purpose—at 318-555-4333.

\/ \/

**Ph****one**** message, December 12. **

Sookie. Alcide here returning your call. I know a few of the members of that casting company, and I'm sure we can come up with someone who'd be able to play Santa. I'll send out some inquiries and let you know.

**Phone message, December 12.**

Hi Sookie, it's Remy. Thank you for the invitation. Hunter would love to visit with you on Saturday the 22nd. If 2:00 is okay, I'll drop him off on my way to run some errands and then pick him up around five. Talk to you later.

\/ \/

**Merlotte's, December 13. SPOV.**

"You still serving Burgers Lafayette?" Alcide held a menu out in front of him. It was just a laminated card, really, about the size of a paperback book, and most folks who came in knew exactly what was on it. Nothing about it had changed, and that was all right—even welcomed—by most folks.

"Yes," I answered. "Still a favorite."

"I'll take two of them with a side of fried pickles."

"Same for me," Alcide's friend Curt said.

I jotted down the order. "Sam will be glad you stopped in. I'll bring him by so he can give you the details."

"Glad I can help," Curt said. "I like to do what I can, especially at this time of the year." For not the first time, I got that niggling suspicion that somehow I knew him. Or maybe that he knew of me. He was a Were, so I couldn't get a solid read on him.

Dropping the order off at the kitchen counter, I wrote my suspicions off to his appearance. He did, after all, look like a celebrity. And by celebrity, I didn't mean Santa.

I headed immediately to Sam's office. "I've got a live Santa Claus out there for you."

Sam looked up from his restaurant supply catalogue.

"What'd you do tie him up and drag him here straight from the North Pole?" he scoffed, but then quickly noted I was serious. I could feel the hope rolling off of him in big waves. This Santa Claus business had been a thorn in his side for weeks; with only two days left until the parade, he'd be relieved if he could cross this particular item off his list.

"Someone who's willing to volunteer for the float?"

"Yep."

"What's the catch?"

I laughed. He'd had no small ordeal tracking down a list of possibilities—none of whom had suited him. Too skinny. Smelled like bourbon. Had a fake beard. Required fifteen-minute breaks every hour. But I had a feeling that with the clock ticking, he'd be willing to give a little on this one.

I left out the part about Alcide's bringing him in as a favor to me. And also I neglected to mention that I thought he looked more like a brawny Kenny Rogers than Santa. The suit would probably do him good. "He's got a great ho-ho-ho, clever North Pole patter, a genuine gray beard, and a bit of a paunch."

"A bit?"

"He'll…round out his suit with a little help from some padding."

"You think he'll do?" Sam asked, with a pitiable amount of desperation in his voice.

"Yes. Definitely."

I suspected, too, that Curt wasn't stepping forth as Santa merely out of the kindness of his heart. Even though it sounded like he'd done a lot of volunteering during the holidays, I thought he'd probably missed out on the altruism gene. But he seemed eager to please and do an authentic job, even if it was probably only for a bit of recognition; in northern rural Louisiana, this would be a plum role.

Sam sighed again, this time with relief, raking his hands through his already messy hair. "I'm so glad we won't have to go with Frosty instead."

\/ \/

**Fangtasia, December 14. EPOV.**

The collection of Jesuses in my office was still growing. "How is he making it past the night watch?"

"_You_ saw him at paintball." Bill turned to Pam. "By the way, you _still_ have a little…" He rubbed his ear.

Pam practically leapt off the sofa in anger. "_Love Me Tender_, my round ass," she huffed, storming out.

Bill turned back to me. "Plus their security is not like Fort Knox. And with the FoTS taken down…"

"Temporarily incapacitated," I reminded him.

Bill held up his hands in acknowledgement, clearly impatient to proceed. "Hear me out. Last night, out of the blue, while we were watching _The Next Karate Kid,_ he said for the first time, 'He was a good man,' and naturally, of course, I presumed he was talking about Jesus. But then he said, 'I haven't been able to find him again.'"

"Find who?"

"I don't know. Clearly he's looking for somebody. He wouldn't tell me who, though he said he was a Were. He said he couldn't say his name because he was protecting his privacy. All he would disclose was, 'It's a shame what happened to him,' and 'I warned him about folks.'"

"He's worried about some Were, but he won't tell you who."

"Correct. But when I offered to help, he agreed to take me back to the place where he'd most recently run into this Were, about a couple blocks away from the first Jesus snatching. The scent was faint, but still there."

Bill paused, I suppose waiting for me to respond. I said nothing. He continued.

"Bubba said that on that night he'd taken the first Jesus, he'd followed this Were for a short distance, and then must have gotten distracted by a cat or maybe even the nativity. It's not clear. The order of events is all very confused in his mind, and he doesn't like talking about it, but it seems that somehow for him, taking the Jesus and finding this Were are connected."

"Sounds like a job for Dr. Joyce Brothers," Pam said, returning with not only a clean ear, but also a new blouse.

Bill nodded. I didn't bother to ask.

"Here's the interesting part. The scent trail ended a few blocks away, in one small concentrated area. And all around that area were the scents of many others. That made him quite agitated, _convinced_ something bad had happened to him. But that's where I lost the trail."

"And why should we care?"

"The scent was oddly familiar to me."

"You mean the scent of the Were?"

"Yes. I know I've come across it before, but I can't place it."

"It's not one of those rogues unceremoniously released by Alcide, is it?" Fucking Weres. Fucking Alcide.

"No, surely not. I'd recognize their scents. But it's put me on edge, though likely not for the same reason Bubba's come unraveled."

_On Edge. Unraveled. _I didn't care what had happened to the Were. I didn't care who was missing their Jesus. And I definitely had no interest in Bill or Bubba's feelings on the matter. Monumental waste of my time getting drawn into this bullshit, which should have ended weeks ago. We were merely lucky no one had yet captured a photo of a resurrected King making off with another Jesus.

I shot Bill a glare. "End. This."

I gathered from Bill's expression that he understood my meaning completely.

\/ \/

**Sookie's house, December 18. SPOV.**

For the most part, the women at my party seemed to be having fun.

There was, for starters, an uncomfortable discussion over "tummy time" between Halleigh and Tara.

"Every day, twice per day," Halleigh declared. She'd been a last-minute entrant on my invite list, added after Andy had come into Merlotte's—bleary-eyed—and acknowledged what a rough transition 'Liney' had been for both of them, but especially for Halleigh, who was still adjusting to being home full-time with her. Indeed, she'd arrived at the party wound tighter than a kitchen timer at Thanksgiving. "I try to put her on her tummy after a feeding and a good burp, and well before sleepy time. She'll tolerate about five minutes or so before she starts to fuss. But it's so important now that babies are sleeping on their backs, you know?"

Tara said she hadn't paid close attention to that sort of schedule, opting to switch up their positions when they seemed to need a change. She was getting more sleep now, but the twins had taken up so much of her energy that I doubted she'd had the same drive to micromanage, instead putting out fires wherever she could.

I thought they were the cutest things in the world, though maybe as their surrogate aunt, I was a tad partial. "There's nothing else like a baby, is there?" I said as a bridge for Tara and Halleigh, but Halleigh glanced away in discomfort.

"I mean," I added quickly, "there's nothing like giving them back to Tara when they start crying."

And then everyone was laughing and wondering what it was like when both babies were crying at once. "I got two boobs," Tara quipped, which made everyone laugh again, though I felt a spike of repulsion mixed with curiosity from Kennedy. Fortunately before she could say anything, Halleigh stepped forward to acknowledge that her Liney was a fussy little thing, with perhaps more than a little Miss Caroline in her.

Tara was lucky that her twins were both generally pleasant and easygoing. "Their smiles get you, you know?"

"Yes," Halleigh agreed, "thank goodness they drop tempting crumbs along the way."

"Speaking of crumbs," Kennedy segued, flashing the diamond on her ring finger.

Anyone who hadn't already been into Merlotte's since Danny had proposed to Kennedy oohed and aahed over the simple, pretty, glittering diamond decorating Kennedy's slim hand. The rest of us oohed and aahed again.

"He worked hard for this for six months," she proudly disclosed. "Wanted to prove to me that he could do it."

I knew as much, judging from what I'd heard from Bill. Bill had confided in me that he'd even offered Danny an advance, but in principle Danny had declined, showing up on Bill's doorstep any extra moment he had. "I'm running out of things for him to do," Bill had acknowledged.

"Of course, once he finally got it, he couldn't wait," Kennedy continued. "He was gonna do it on Christmas Eve, but he was too excited. Isn't that sweet?" Turning to me, she asked, "How about you? How's your man?"

With the recent charges I'd faced, enough about my life with vampires had been publicized that I could forego a lot of explanations. "Oh, Eric's been keeping himself busy as usual," I said simply. Something was going on, I knew, since he'd been gone sporadically here and there for the past few weeks. But he'd been to my house plenty of nights to "enjoy the Christmas tree," and I'd been to Shreveport on a few occasions too, so I figured it was nothing big. Probably something having to do with the missing Jesus figures from the nativity scenes in Shreveport that had recently made the news. And judging from Bill's almost complete absence, I guessed the whole business somehow involved Bubba. I suspected too that he was holding out on me because he knew I was looking forward to the holiday season, but that if he really needed help, he would think only twice before dumping it all in my lap. Old habits die hard.

"I saw he donated that nativity scene at the Methodist church in Shreveport," Amelia noted with a slight quirk of her eyebrow.

Amelia was still Amelia, after all. "Yes, and he brought me this tree, too. Showed up and surprised me with it one night."

"Oooh," India squealed. "I bet that made for some fun times."

"You know it," I answered, which had all of them hooting and hollering like we were in the middle of a strip club. For a very brief moment, I almost missed the old Hooligans. Strike that. No, I definitely did not, though I felt a little pang about Dermot. He would have enjoyed this party very much.

And then Kennedy served more punch, which was a double batch of her new drink concoction. "It's called a Slay Bell. As in S-l-a-y Bell."

"Fill 'er up," Michele requested. "And before I forget, Sookie, Jason asked me to get your Gran's chocolate cake recipe from you."

I ran to jot it down before I forgot, and returned with a recipe card as well as seven slips of paper, each with a number on it, which I placed in a Santa hat.

"Y'all know the rules, right?" I passed the hat, choosing a number only after everyone else had picked. As it turned out, I was left with the prime number—number one. "Thank you very much," I said, holding up my slip.

"It's fixed," Kennedy complained, only half jokingly.

I took a moment to enjoy all the pretty presents under the tree and put up my best mental block—I _do_ love surprises—before finally selecting an oddly-shaped packaged wrapped in shiny red paper with a gold bow. "A bath set!" I exclaimed, which had everyone laughing, knowing how much I like to primp.

"If I could have picked anyone to give that gift to, it would have been you," India noted.

Kennedy went next, opening a crepe pan that Amelia contributed. She looked at it somewhat dubiously until Amelia indicated that she and Bob had had "the _best_ crepes in Paris," with an eyebrow waggle.

"I'm all set," Kennedy said with the crepe pan firmly tucked in her lap.

Michele went next, unwrapping a rug cleaning kit from Tara, obviously donated by JB, who was selling them on the side to bring in extra cash. Michele, who'd already purchased some of the product, promptly swapped it for the crepe pan from Kennedy.

"This stuff is great," Michele assured Tara, "but I'm a newlywed and I want some of those crepes from the City of Love."

The women all cackled while Kennedy accepted the cleaning product with gracious, but feigned delight. Amelia assured both of them she'd give them a lesson in the kitchen.

Then Halleigh made her selection, exclaiming over a pair of earrings handcrafted by Michele, followed by India, who opened the Cinnamon Roll Yankee candle that I'd contributed. "Smells just like the real thing," I promised.

She lifted the lid and gave it a long sniff. "Oh, it's gonna make me hungry!"

Amelia, who'd drawn number six, had two presents from which to choose. She opened up a spa gift certificate, brought by Kennedy. "Death by Fashion," Amelia noted.

"They do the best manicures," Kennedy promised, but Amelia had her eye on the candle, which India somewhat gleefully gave up.

"Ask for Bruce," Kennedy advised India, who nodded seriously, sure to follow her recommendation.

"Hmm…which one should I choose?" Tara joked, noticing the lone, but festive package under the tree, which ended up being a pair of fancy Christmas tea towels. "Clean and pretty and not for a baby." She groaned with contentment.

Halleigh laughed in appreciation. "Isn't the amount of laundry something else?"

Tara happily kept them. And then all eyes were on me, watching to see whether I was going to stay or steal. "All right, Sookie, what's it going to be?" Michele prodded. "Pressure's on."

I'd done my best mental blocking, but still hadn't missed the _oh,drat!_ from Michele as she thought about having to exchange the almost exact same bath set she and Jason had bought me for Christmas. Meanwhile, Kennedy had pasted on her most polished smile. I eyed her rug cleaning kit, which frankly, was out of my budget. I figured I'd never know when I'd have to clean another nasty stain off my carpets.

"I'll take that," I said, swapping my bath soap for rug cleaner, which made everyone—including Kennedy—hoot and holler some more.

"One more round of Slay Bells," Kennedy suggested. Tara and Halleigh, designated drivers, both declined. Amelia jumped up to turn up the portable docking station she'd brought for the party and put her player on shuffle.

Within minutes, we were all dancing.

\/ \/

**Sookie's house, December 22. SPOV.**

At five o'clock, the sun was rapidly setting.

I had one very happy six year-old on my hands who still had a full dose of energy even after a very busy afternoon. We'd built the new Lego car I'd given him. We'd drunk some hot cocoa and read the Grinch together. We'd gone for a walk through the woods to scout for pine cones and run off some steam. And we'd played Uncle Wiggly twice.

At a few minutes past five, just when I was starting to get antsy, my phone rang.

"Sookie, it's Remy."

"Hi, Remy, how's it going?"

"Listen, I'm running a few minutes late."

"Oh?"

"If you don't mind, I'm in line to buy Hunter one of those action hero sets he's been asking for. I oughta be able to make it there by six or a little after."

Surely Remy knew that sundown was happening here at the same time it was happening wherever he was, which was in only a few minutes. I thought about who might show up on my doorstep. Something was definitely going on, but I didn't think it was anything I needed to be concerned about.

"Okay, we'll just watch a movie or something. Maybe have some dinner."

"Appreciate it. I've been looking _all over_ for this toy."

"Well, then, I'm glad you found it. We'll see you _soon_," I said pointedly.

"Right, thanks again!"

Hunter appeared by my side as I hung up. "Your daddy's running a little late," I told him. "Wanna make some macaroni and cheese?"

"Yay!" he shouted, jumping up and down and starting to run around the kitchen table.

I grabbed a pan. "Go fill this up with water."

He dragged a stool over to the sink. And then once we got the macaroni on the stove, I pulled out a package of pre-made cut-out cookie dough and together we worked on placing the shapes on a cookie sheet.

"May I help decorate them?"

"We'll see how long until your daddy gets here. I'll send some home with you if we run out of time."

Concentrating on arranging the shapes on the cookie tray, he nodded seriously. Something about his expression suddenly reminded me of Hadley.

He glanced up at me, startled. "Sometimes you look like your mama," I acknowledged out loud, "and sometimes like your daddy." With a bit of cheese powder on the front of his shirt and mussed hair from our walk outside, he also looked like a boy who'd had a very busy afternoon. Or at least that was how_ I_ felt.

I was still concentrating on tidying up my thoughts—how had Gran done it all those years—when a figure appeared at my back kitchen door. Distracted, I answered it without first checking the mental signature…and came face to face with a vampire.

"Howdy, Miss Sookie."

"Bubba! I haven't seen you in a long time!" I moved in front of the door, as though to block his path into my kitchen, but Bubba had never needed an invitation, and didn't bother with needing one now. He pushed forward, ambling into the kitchen. "What's going on?" I asked, trying to get a better read on him. He wasn't looking entirely with it, which put me on edge. I made a conscious effort to relax; around Bubba, acting nervous would do no one any good.

"Not much," he answered somewhat noncommittally. "I was on my way over to visit Mr. Bill when I saw your pretty Christmas tree lights through the window."

"Who are you?" Hunter piped up.

"Hey there, li'l' fella." He reached out and tousled his hair. "I'm Bubba. Who are you?"

"I'm Hunter. I got a new toy. Wanna see?"

And before I could stop them, my nephew was leading Bubba into my living room to play with a Lego car. I scrambled inside, trying to figure out the best way to manage this situation with as limited fallout as possible.

_Hunter, _I thought directly at him. _Remember to talk out loud. And mind your manners. You may need to have extra patience with him. _

_Why?_ he asked, but I could sense from him that he was already picking up on some of Bubba's differences.

_Out loud __now__. We'll talk about it later. You're doing great. _His face had barely registered that we were having a whole separate internal conversation.

"What's that you got there?" Bubba asked.

"A Lego car!" Hunter held up the box excitedly. "You can build it three ways, see?" He pointed to the picture and held up his car. "This is the one I built now."

"Well looky here. Ain't that somethin'?" Bubba took the box from him and plunked straight down on the floor. "Looks like a lot of pieces."

"Two hundred and seventy-eight!" Hunter started pulling apart the pieces and handing them to Bubba, who examined them like they were alien life forms.

"I had Lincoln Logs," he said.

"Oh, yeah, I have those too. Those are fun."

"But you can't build no cars with them."

"Not really. Mostly houses," Hunter agreed, and then noticing Bubba was struggling to figure out how the pieces fit, he demonstrated. Bubba grunted and nodded and then tried for himself. "Which one you wanna build?" Hunter prompted.

Bubba still seemed fixed on figuring out the mechanics of the Lego pieces, but pointed at a dragster type of car. "How 'bout that one?"

"Okay," Hunter replied, continuing to pull apart pieces. With Bubba's keen vampire vision, we'd be less likely to end up with any missing pieces, but I was still unclear on how to best handle this situation. If I flat-out asked him to leave now, would he grow agitated and cause more of a fuss? Did I need to involve Bill just in case? That carried its own crop of thorny problems, with longer term risks. Maybe it was better to let it simply ride out. With a sinking heart, I realized Remy and I had waited a little too long to begin having a whole series of conversations.

And then the timer to the oven went off.

"Cookies!" Hunter shouted, jumping up and running to the kitchen. He was peering into the oven door when I caught up with him, Bubba in tow.

"Step back," I directed.

Pulling the tray out of the oven, I noted they looked a little too brown around the edges.

"Yum!" Hunter said, in any case.

But Bubba looked at them with discernment. "My mama made _real __good_ cut-out cookies with frosting."

"My mama's dead," Hunter replied bluntly, climbing into a kitchen chair and grabbing for a glass of milk we'd poured earlier.

"Mine too," Bubba answered, sitting next to him.

"How 'bout some mac and cheese?" I prompted, and Hunter soon dug into a big bowl with a side of sliced apples.

Bubba, meanwhile, had declined a drink and had picked up a copy of this week's Bon Temps Bugle to scan through the pictures.

"I was there!" Hunter pointed at a photograph of the parade, showing the Chamber of Commerce float, with Curt the Were as Santa.

"He's not the real Santa," Hunter announced.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"My daddy says he's a helper Santa, 'cuz the real Santa is so busy at this time of the year."

"No son, he's not the real Santa." Bubba was shaking his head sadly. "His name's Kenny. It's a shame what happened to him."

Kenny? As in _Kenny Rogers? _Bubba seemed to have gotten our friend Curt mixed up with someone he might have met during his celebrity days. "Tell us some more about the parade, Hunter," I prompted.

But Bubba plowed on. "I met that man in Vegas one year. He wanted me to go gambling with him. He was a young singer then. Just starting up. Nice fellow. I warned him not to trust anyone, that people would try to take advantage of him.

Hunter was scraping his bowl. "What's that mean, try to take advantage?'" he asked.

"It's a way of being mean to someone," I explained, "by taking something from that person for yourself. Would you like more?" He shook his head.

"Now it looks like Kenny is down on his luck," Bubba added. Not for nothing, I noticed, he didn't say anything about Kenny—I mean, Curt—being a Were.

I glanced at Hunter, who was starting to fidget in his seat. "Hunter, go get your Lego set together so you're ready when your daddy comes and then we'll decorate some cookies." I was starting to wish Bill were here. Bubba seemed stuck on this Kenny idea, and it wasn't always a good idea to refute him or point out differences between then and now that he wasn't ready to hear. It sometimes made him real agitated, and if it came to it, I didn't happen to have any cats to spare.

So I spoke carefully, saying only what I thought I needed to. "Bubba, as it turns out, I met him too. In fact, I'm the one who asked him to play Santa in the float."

"You did?" He eyed me suspiciously. I continued quickly.

"Yes, as a favor for my friend who was in charge of organizing that float. And I know for a fact that your friend here was real happy to help. That's a big job, being Santa in the float. He was proud to be asked to do it." I let out the part about what he really did for a living, which wasn't singing country songs.

Bubba looked doubtful. "I've been looking all over for him, for weeks, Miss Sookie. Mr. Bill followed his scent to a place where he'd been surrounded by a lot of people. And then it was like he disappeared. Like they did something bad to him."

"Well, you see he's okay here," I pointed, trying to buy some more time. I thought about what Curt had said about liking to do what he could to help at this time of the year, and then suddenly, it clicked. "Bubba, I believe your friend volunteers for the Salvation Army, too. You know those bell ringers?"

"Those are loud and annoying."

"Yes," I agreed, "but they collect money for people who need it. If he was surrounded by anyone, it was just people putting money in his kettle."

He still looked perplexed. "So he's okay?"

"Yes. Doing well." I pointed again at his picture.

"That's good. Now I can stop looking for him."

But Bubba didn't appear to be entirely settled. He sat at the table, continuing to brood, which made me nervous. "You sure you don't want me to warm you up something to drink?"

He seemed to be considering. "Naw. I'm all right. What's that you got there?"

I was clipping the tips to some tubes. "It's decorator frosting. For decorating cookies."

"I wanna start with white," Hunter announced, placing his Lego box on the empty chair beside him.

"Please," I corrected him.

"May I please have the white?"

"Yes you may." I handed it to him, along with a plate with one sugar cookie cut in the shape of a gingerbread man.

He gave it a squeeze that was much too hard. A big blob of white shot out onto the cookie.

"Aw, I messed up," he said, disappointed.

"That's all right. Just scrape it off." I reached over to help. Bubba was watching with great interest. "There. Now it's as good as new."

Bubba grunted in agreement.

Hunter tried again, laboring to outline his cookie.

"You can sprinkle that with colored sugar if you want, but you have to do it before the icing dries and hardens."

"Give me the red," he ordered, but then quickly added, "Will you please pass me the red?"

"That looks like fun," Bubba commented. "Real fun."

"You can try one too, right Aunt Sookie?"

I nodded at Bubba, waiting for him to respond.

"I reckon I might like that," he finally said.

So I grabbed another paper plate out of the cupboard and passed it to Bubba with a cookie. He looked at it for a moment before reaching for it.

"Thank you, ma'am."

Hunter handed a frosting tube to Bubba as he sprinkled his cookie. Bubba labored just as hard as Hunter did; side-by-side they concentrated on perfecting their decorating techniques. At one point, Bubba started humming, maybe one of the gospel songs he'd recorded in another lifetime. Eventually when Hunter started to fidget, I knew he was reaching his end.

"I'm making googly eyes," he said, taking two silver balls and planting them askew. He held it up to show Bubba, who laughed.

"He's drunk," he announced, which made Hunter giggle.

"Bubba…" I said in a correcting tone.

"I'm making mine real purty," Bubba said, and I could see he was struggling to fashion a pair of pouty lips—not very easy with a tube of frosting. Maybe he got frustrated, because when I looked away for a moment, he began outlining _all_ the parts of a female gingerbread.

"What's that?" Hunter asked.

"Bubba…" I said again, sternly, by now having a better feel for his current mood. "You need to be appropriate or I'll send you over to Mr. Bill's." I realized with a start that I sounded a lot like Gran in her TTLC mode—tough and tender loving care.

"Excuse me, ma'am. He shook his head. "I'm not interested in watching _The Karate Kid _again." Picking up a knife, he attempted to scrape the icing, but it smeared badly. Frowning, he studied it for a moment before declaring that his was going to look like Santy Claus.

"Good idea!" Hunter declared, which apparently made Bubba really happy. They started comparing notes on how to make frosting look like fur.

"Make it curly," Hunter suggested, looping frosting in curlicues.

"Or in big dots."

"Oh, that's good," Hunter agreed. And then the two of them were dotting their cookies with big globs of icing. Bubba got so into it that Hunter stopped to watch, and pretty soon—encouraged—Bubba squeezed his tube with such force that frosting sprayed out and pushed his plate clear across the table. I was surprised, actually, that he hadn't burst the whole top off his tube. Hunter immediately fell to the floor laughing. Smiling his lopsided grin, Bubba picked up his cookie, made a show of it, and before I could stop him, took a huge bite.

The smile instantly vanished. "I don't feel none too good," he said through a mouthful of sugar cookie. "These ain't right. Not like my mama used to make."

I shoved his plate under his mouth, praying he wouldn't become violently ill. "Spit it out." Surprisingly enough, he did just that. I was left holding a half-witted vampire's half-chewed cookie.

He looked dazed and confused. "Bubba," I said with urgency, hoping to get his attention. "What can I do to help? You want me to heat you up something to drink?"

"Miss Sookie?" He looked down at the plate, shook his head and batted at his face, as though trying to clear away cobwebs. "Miss Sookie. Thank you, ma'am. You're very kind, and this has been real…ah…interesting, but—gosh—alls I really wanted was a cat. So I'm gonna go do that now—find me a cat." He smiled, and somehow Bubba was Bubba again.

"All right. You go do that." I stepped aside, out of his way.

"Merry Christmas, Miss Sookie. Hunter." He nodded at each of us in turn and offered an extra lopsided smile to Hunter. Then he was gone.

Hunter, who had by now stopped laughing from the icing escapade, picked himself off the floor and sat back in his seat soberly. "I liked him," he said. "I couldn't hear a single word he was thinking."

\/ \/

**Phone message: Sookie calling Bill, December 23.**

Hi, Bill. This is Sookie. Haven't seen you in a while and I hope you are well. I'm calling to let you know that Bubba was over here earlier this evening. He mentioned to me that the two of you have been out looking for a Were. His name is Curt. If you want to see a picture of him, he's in this week's Bugle dressed up as Santa on the Chamber of Commerce float. Looks a lot like Kenny Rogers, which I think had Bubba confused. He seems to be all set with that now, by the way. Anyway, I wondered if you'd please stop over when you have a minute. I want to run something by you about this Were, now that I'm thinking of it. It's nothing concrete—maybe just a niggling suspicion—but somehow he bothers me, aside from the fact that he looks like Kenny Rogers. I'll fill you in later. Merry Christmas.

\/ \/

**Sookie's house, December 25. SPOV.**

"She's been a very fine tree." Lying beneath my Christmas tree with Eric, I reached up to tug on one of her branches. "Hardly any needles dropped." I almost hated to toss her out into the woods for compost. Almost. But at the first chance I'd get, I'd take all the ornaments down and pack them in the boxes I'd labeled for storage in their designated space in the attic. I'd saved a couple empty cardboard wrapping paper tubes for winding strands of lights, a nifty storage tip I'd seen this year on HGTV that I was eager to try. And then all of the furniture would be returned to its normal place and life would carry on. Aside from the party and the little blip with Bubba, the holiday season had been calm. Almost too calm. Old habits die hard.

"A very fine tree, indeed," Eric agreed. "Very useful." His palm, cupping my breast, gave a playful squeeze. "Tell me about your holiday."

"Well, yesterday we closed at two. I wrapped a few presents and went to Christmas Eve candlelight service. Then in the morning, I fixed a sweet potato casserole and read before taking my time to get ready. Michele called right before I left to ask whether I could pick up a quart of milk at the Grabit Kwik for the mashed potatoes on my way to their house. I got there around noon and helped her and Jason get dinner ready. We ate around two. Then we exchanged presents and had some dessert and coffee. Michele baked Gran's chocolate cake. Oh! And look…"

I turned my head so Eric could take a close view. "Michele surprised me with these earrings. When she'd been here for my party, I'd heard her thinking about a bath set she and Jason had gotten me, but as it turned out, it was all a hoax."

"You mean she deliberately thought of the wrong gift to throw you off?"

"Yes! And she even wrapped them in a package that looked like a bath set. You should have seen her and Jason's face when I opened the earrings."

"You're a tough one for humans to surprise."

"Yeah, but they got me good this time. It's a really sweet present, too, because she made the earrings to match Gran's bracelet." I held up my wrist to show Eric, though he'd seen it many times. I barely ever took it off my wrist.

"Anyway, on my way home, Tara called to say JB's parents had left, so I swung by to see the twins. They were pretty fussy and tired from their day, so I didn't stay too long. When I came home, I popped in an old Christmas movie to watch until you got here. How about you?"

"Opening was slow at the club tonight, but a few patrons were lined up. Slow last night too, which was good for—as you say—tying up loose ends. We had a disturbance with Bubba, which seems to have finally ended."

"Ah." I jostled him playfully. "So that's how you've been keeping Bill busy."

He bumped me back. "Especially now that we've mainstreamed, it is a strange time of year for vampires—this holiday season—whether you've ever celebrated it or not."

_Strange?_ I figured _strange_ was about as deep as Eric was gonna get, and about as much as he wanted to personally say on the matter. I kissed him on his cheek.

"Bill said he was spending Christmas Eve with the Bellefleurs," I noted, trying to imagine the holiday scene at Belle Rive—stiff and formal and grand, with nary a chip-and-dip or a marshmallow-topped casserole in sight. Though maybe now with all of that baby gear Halleigh and Andy were toting, things had relaxed slightly. But then there was Bill in the middle of it all.

It still boggled my mind that old Miss Caroline had been the one to bridge the connection between old and young—old Miss Caroline being the young. Since then, the Bellefleurs had come a long way toward accepting Bill, but still, I didn't know whether Halleigh and Andy had given up Liney to the arms of a vampire yet. He sure was proud of her, calling me over to his house to look at emailed photos. Day by day, that sweet little slip of a baby would grow older until she surpassed the human age of her great great great great—how many was that?—granddaddy.

I shook myself. Yep. _Strange _was probably a good descriptor.

Eric's cool fingers stroked my arm. "Bill's lucky he wasn't spending Christmas with Bubba, cleaning the bathroom stalls at Fangtasia."

I figured Eric had cleaned that up for me, figuratively speaking, so I didn't dare ask any other questions about it.

He continued. "But it will pick up for the rest of the week. I'll have to have full staff on every night. And then New Year's…" He trailed off. It went without saying.

"Same at Merlotte's, and I'm on all day tomorrow, open to close." I'd offered it to Sam so he could take an extra day to visit his family in Texas.

For tonight, Eric was joining me in having a drink out of a container. He held up his bottle. Its thick red contents coated the sides. "So this is it."

"So it is. Here's to 2013." I held up my champagne flute to him.

Eric took a small sip before returning his bottle to the repurposed coffee mug warmer I'd dug out of the back of my kitchen cupboard. Then he picked up the champagne bottle, which Sam had given me, and topped off my glass.

"2011," he noted, smirking at the label. "This didn't sit on _any__one__'s_ shelf for long."

"Nope." I took another sip. Luckily for him, I was feeling enough of a warm holiday glow—not to mention a slight buzz—that I opted to interpret his comment not as a slur on Sam's gift, but as an appreciation of spontaneity and joie de vivre. "What better time than right here, right now?"

Eric's fingers, which had begun tracing meandering circles on my arm, paused for the slightest of moments before resuming more briskly and firmly. I laughed and handed him my glass, which he placed up on the coffee table, well out of the range of trouble.

He was on top of me in a flash, nuzzling my neck.

I wiggled beneath him, feeling his excitement grow. "I was beginning to think this Christmas was going to be much too tranquil."

"Merry Christmas, lover," he murmured in my ear. And that was the calmest thing either of us uttered for quite some time to come.

\/ \/

**Sookie's house, December 25. Third person POV.**

Outside, the warlock detected a distinct trace of magic—old magic, perhaps some wards that hardly held their power anymore, and certainly nothing he couldn't handle. Strangely enough, on top of that, he also discerned some Old World magic, of the French variety. Again, nothing he couldn't manage. Mere legerdemain. But it was the fairy magic, suffusing the house and the land around it, that intrigued him most and could present the biggest challenge. He liked a good challenge.

He'd been lucky when the Were named Curt had contacted him, suggesting he had some useful information. But it was his keen intuition that had guided him to accept his offer, for a payment that had turned out to be a pittance.

Niall had likely forgotten about him, or perhaps hadn't even considered. And that was the thing about loose ends—they never could be tied up completely. If you looked hard enough, there was always a loose end to be found. He liked thinking of himself as one of those loose ends—unnoticed for now, but a threat that could unravel the whole lot. With Niall gone, what was there to stop him? Good riddance. Stupid fae had stuck their noses where they hadn't belonged. Niall hadn't realized what he'd gotten into when he'd intervened between his brother and that fool Preston Pardloe.

No, Niall wouldn't be here to witness his revenge, but that mattered little. He'd have fun with it anyway, especially now that he had all the time in the world to get creative.

* * *

**A/N:** Some "ends and odds…"

Remember Curt from _Gift Wrap_? He is a community actor and a courier for one of Niall's businesses who is hired by Niall to show up at Sookie's house and pretend to hunt down Preston Pardloe. (Sookie never actually sees Curt, though she does have the opportunity to pick up his mental signature.) Another reminder: Preston's tough role in that whole charade was performed as a return favor to Niall for getting him out of a jam with an elf and a warlock.

Though I've never known much about Elvis, I _love_ CH's Bubba. But for this story, I also owe a big nod to Dean Koontz's portrayal of Elvis the ghost in his Odd Thomas series. (Yep, Supe Elvis makes an appearance in there too. Odd Thomas, by the way, is one of my all-time favorite characters, right up there with Sookie.) And for what it's worth, according to an interview I read with Kenny Rogers, he and Elvis Presley really did cross paths in Vegas early in Rogers's career. He indicated that Elvis was too nervous to join him at the gaming tables because of his manager's warnings about the general public. A link to the interview is on my profile page.

Thanks for reading!  
Peace and happiness to you in the year to come. ;)


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